Here's My Revelation
by anne-writes
Summary: Hermione is Snape's apprentice. She's about 23. A drawn-out argument about Lily, sexual tension, character growth, et cetera. *the quotations at the end of some chapters are all from The Visit, by Malbec.
1. Chapter 1

There is something wonky going on with navigating between chapters on FF (at least for me!). Here's a link to the 2nd chapter. **www. fanfiction .net/s/5953401/2/**

Based on _The Visit_, by Malbec. Enjoy [reviews are loved, as always].

* * *

"Shut _up_, Hermione!" he snapped at her, throwing the empty vial in his hand against the wall in his frustration. "I don't quite understand why you're so bloody fixated on such a daft question! I refuse to answer!" he continued. Leaning closer, he hissed in her face. "Drop. The. Subject."

Her face was steadily growing more and more blotchily red, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Severus Tobias Snape. It is hardly something to be so defensive about. What, are you _still_ fixated on that woman? She's been dead for over 20 years! You are wasting away in this hellhole of a potions lab, punishing yourself for something you _did not even cause!" _she shouted.

He turned then, walking to the door to his quarters, slamming it open and storming through. She followed him angrily, haphazardly repairing the broken glass vial on her way. When she stepped through the doorway, he spun back.

"I do not recall inviting you in," he said icily.

"I do not recall needing an invitation!" she yelled.

He glared at her from across the room, fists clenched. Voice laden with fury, his words seemed at once mocking and brutally honest.

"Why. Do. You. Care."

Hermione just looked at him, the anger dissipating from her body and face in one fell swoop. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but instead just left, slamming the door as she went.

* * *

_In my inspiration  
__I've always been the kind to turn my back  
__But in the conversation, I can't tell you that_


	2. Chapter 2

He was drunk. In the back of his mind, whatever small part of him wasn't reeling from the gin was insisting that this was so irresponsible, that he hadn't been drunk since he was eighteen, that this was impossibly childish and immature. He drank, of course, but he didn't _drink_. His father was a drunkard; he had little inclination to follow in any of that man's footsteps.

Suddenly, the memory of the last time he had been thoroughly pissed flooded over his alcohol-soaked mind.

:::

He had been eighteen, sitting on the rusty swing at the local park the summer after graduation. His parents had had yet another screaming match. Severus was dying to leave that house but his Potions apprenticeship didn't start until the fall, and he had no money. A few days ago he had found a dusty bottle of cheap Firewhisky in one of the kitchen cupboards, and had snuck it up to his room.

Sitting in the creaking swing past eleven at night, he had opened the bottle, drinking it quickly and relishing the way it burnt his throat.

She had stepped through the trees unannounced, red hair straight and shining in the moonlight, a soft yellow dress whipping about her frame with the brisk wind.

"What do you want, Lily," he said emotionlessly. They had ceased being friends some time ago.

"I just wanted to swing for a bit. Remember my childhood, I suppose," she said softly, valiantly ignoring the hurt between them.

He laughed shortly, meanly. "By all means, Princess. Have a seat. May I offer you a spot of Italy's finest wine?"

She sat in the swing, and took the bottle from his hand. "Thank you," she said primly, and grimaced as the liquor raced down her throat.

They passed the bottle back and forth, staring out at the road. His head grew heavy, his limbs leaden, and before he realized what he was doing he had begun laughing. Just a dry, sarcastic chuckle at first, but then Lily had joined in and before he knew it they were just sitting in their swings, laughing so hard their ribs hurt. He was laughing at nothing. Laughing at himself. Laughing at the idea that he could have ever had her, and with the chilly wind whipping around them, he realized it all made sense. She wasn't for him, which was somehow immeasurably funny in itself. He couldn't have her. It was such a terrible realization that he was laughing, dying, ribs aching from the effort. But he couldn't stop laughing, he was worried if he did he would die. He would break and fall apart and tumble down onto the dirty sand beneath their feet and never get up.

But then, as if his body hadn't yet understood what his mind had realized, he was turning and leaning toward her and capturing her mouth with his. His hands held her jaw, pulling her closer. He came to his knees before her, his mouth never leaving hers, wanting her so badly it wasn't funny anymore. It was horrific. But she was kissing him back, her hands burying in his hair, pulling him to her.

He pulled back after a long time. She pressed a hand to her lips, a wry smile distorting her face.

"Severus…" she whispered. He didn't respond, just sank back on his haunches and looked up at her. His head was spinning, he was so drunk, so bloody tanked. _Her eyes were sad, _he thought.

"I'm marrying James Potter in a few weeks," she said sadly, apologetically.

He said nothing.

She brushed his hair aside and pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering.

"I am so sorry, Severus. I wish I could love you."

And then she walked away, and he never saw her again.

:::

With a jolt, he came back to himself, his head throbbing with the memory that had whipped through him like a tornado, leveling his emotions and leaving him bare, awful, exposed.

It was as if he were eighteen again. This pain, this wretched aching that pervaded his bones, this was decades old. Lily had done this.

And, as if the gods hadn't been cruel enough to him in his life, every single thing led back to her, to that abandonment. Everything. Everyone always asked, always wondered. He could never escape it, it had directed his life, had unmanned him every single day for more than twenty-five fucking years.

_But it's not just Lily now_, his mind whispered. _It's _her_, too._

Gods. When had that twit of a girl become anything but a rather annoying apprentice? When had he noticed that her work robes, tight in the bodice and sleeves to avoid knocking potions ingredients over, hugged her curves in a way that made his chest feel tight even in drunken remembrance of it? When had he begun wanting her?

* * *

_So here's my revelation  
__I came across a place within my past  
__And every situation seems to lead to that_


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione reappeared in the doorway to the lab the next day, precisely five minutes early, as always. When she had begun, Severus had wondered if she waited in the hallway until it was just five 'til. But now he was positive that she was just naturally on time. Hermione Granger was so bloody perfect.

She looked at him hesitantly. She had worn her oldest set of robes, which he had never told her to replace because the fabric was threadbare and they were a bit too small, and the thin fabric stretched across her chest and stomach in a way that was rather less than conducive to his productivity.

"Hermione, I—" he began, but she stopped him.

"No, I'm sorry. I never should have brought it up in the first place. Our relationship is strictly professional," she said quickly, as if practiced. Did he imagine the winsome note of that last sentence?

"Hermione…" he said softly, his voice laden with a meaning that he prayed she wouldn't miss. She glanced back up at him through sooty lashes, and took a half-step into the room, towards him. He closed the distance between them, pulling her close, closer than he had before, moulding her body to his in the most excellently indecent way. He pressed his lips against her cheekbone, then her lips, and it was the most perfect moment he had ever had.

She kissed him back eagerly, hands immediately beginning to unbutton his robes, hands delving beneath them and jerking up his shirt so she could run her palms over his bare back. He groaned into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her shoulders so tightly, holding her as close as he could.

She pulled her head back and buried it against his chest, breathing hard, nimble fingers still caressing his back with intoxicating touches. He held her even closer, impossibly tight, crushing her body to his. This was so brilliant, so perfect. Glistening. He needed her with a ferocity that he hadn't felt in so long. He released her, dying at the loss, so that he could grab her hand and pull her to his rooms. To his bed.

They stumbled into his room, and he kicked the door shut as he hastily worked at the buttons on her robes, then her shirt, then her skirt and bra as she kicked off her shoes. Finally, she stood there, an arms-length away, lips already swollen, hair already impossibly mussed, in just her blue underwear and knee socks. Severus devoured the sight of her, the scattering of freckles across her shoulders, the small scar to the left of her navel.

Yet suddenly, the air seemed to still between them. That question was back, those old memories dancing through the air between them. Hermione noticed, and stood perfectly still, hands clenched at her sides.

"Are you thinking of her?" she whispered.

Severus shook his head slowly, but he knew it was unconvincing. He wasn't sure. Was he thinking of Lily? Was he subconsciously comparing them? This was so much brighter, so much fiercer than anything he had felt for Lily, but all he could remember was his idealized version of her and the gloriously leaden feeling that had flowed through his body when he had kissed her as a boy.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, desperately wanting to make her understand that he didn't know, that he couldn't know, but an icy coldness had already come over her face, blocking him off.

So he turned, and walked out of the room, just like Lily had, all those years ago.

Severus was leaning against his desk in the lab when she emerged a few minutes later, impeccably dressed, hair tamed again. But her lips were still reddened, which made his chest throb painfully when he noticed.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, outwardly calm but with a slight tremor in her voice that belied her cool exterior.

He didn't say a word.

She cleared her throat, and more resolutely, "I think I'll take my two weeks vacation starting tomorrow. Goodbye," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear and walking quickly out the door.

And he let her go.


	4. Chapter 4

Reviews... :)  
Also this chapter is a bit shoddy, I've been a bit stuck. I think I have it worked out, though!

* * *

Hermione was sitting on a bench in Grand Central Station, in an old sundress, long hair wild about her shoulders. Normally, she would have kept it cut shorter, but since these days she was spending all her time in the lab she had let it grow. She liked it this way, curtaining her off from the world. As if these American Muggles knew who she was, but still. Anonymity. They didn't know she had made a huge fool of herself with one of the only people whose opinion she actually valued.

She had never been to New York before, but she'd heard it was even more chaotic than London, more modern, louder and more disorganized. All of those things, which she would have normally avoided, sounded magnificently appealing at the moment. She wanted to be lost among these bodies, wandering through museums and art galleries and not recognizing a soul.

But now she was slumped on a worn bench, head throbbing, confused about why she was here. She'd do the tourist things, of course, but this felt ferociously like running away. And Hermione Granger did not run away.

Everything was far too overwhelming, the sun was too bright, and she wanted nothing more than to be back home in her flat. Reading, and researching, and coming up with theories and experiments. Most of all, Hermione realized sadly, she missed Severus. Making him tea and glancing him as he worked.

And all this fell flat in comparison. She missed him. She wasn't sure quite when she had fallen so hard for her former professor and current boss, but she was deluded for thinking it would ever work out.

_For someone who is usually such a stickler for the rules, you sure were quick to shag a man who is so completely inappropriate. Doubly inappropriate, really,_ her mind scolded.

Except they _hadn't_ shagged. She had seen that he wanted her, or she had thought so, but then it had been terribly overshadowed by that far-off look on his face when he looked at her. Like he was imagining someone else. And there was only one person it could be.

Then he had walked out. What else was there to do, really.

Hermione didn't want to be traveling, she didn't want to be visiting America, she didn't want to be doing any of this. She wanted to be under her covers in her own bed.

She shook her head quickly, as if to clear it, and stood up. She was going home. She wasn't sure why she had come in the first place, but she knew for certain that she needed to be in her own flat, not off pretending to be a Muggle in some hotel in a city she had never visited before.

* * *

_The things I try to do  
__Everything I thought I knew  
__Could not be held as true  
__Without you_


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione was on her couch, huddled under a quilt, at noon on a Thursday, with the worst hangover of her relatively short life. She had a pillow over her head, trying unsuccessfully to block the sunlight pouring in her window. If she could remember where she had left her wand, she would close the curtains, but the idea of looking for it (or, heaven forbid, actually get up to close the curtains herself) was just making her head pound even harder.

_Water_, whichever part of her brain was actually functioning insisted. _You need water_.

"What I _need_ is darkness," Hermione grumbled.

_Water, water water water water. Water!_

"No! I am not ever leaving this couch!" she groaned, more loudly than necessary, causing her head to throb, soliciting another groan (albeit a quieter one).

Just then, someone knocked obscenely loudly on her door.

"Fuck everything!" she yelled, rolling off the sofa and stumbling to the door, left hand held over her eyes to block the light, right hand fumbling for the doorknob. She was still wearing her dress from the night before, the halter-top skewed and exposing half of her bra, the skirt rumpled and rucked up on the side. Her dirty hair was completely flat on one side, with a whole clump sticking to the side of her face. There was nothing she could have possibly cared less about than her current appearance. It was probably just Ginny anyway, come to check that she was alright after their club crawl the night before.

"Well, I'm definitely not alright," she mumbled to herself, jerking open the door. When there was silence, instead of an overly enthusiastic greeting, she squinted her eyes and peeked between her fingers.

Severus Snape, every towering, black-clothed inch of him, stood in her hallway, looking at her with an undisguised look of disgust on his face.

_Oh, shit_.

Severus pushed past her, into her living room, and looked about.

"Can I help you?" she managed to croak out, sounding ungrateful and dreadfully ill. Oh gods, she was going to be sick.

"Miss Granger—" he began, but she had already made a break for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

When she emerged, feeling slightly better after washing her face and brushing her teeth three times, and attired much more respectably in a pair of running shorts and a baggy t-Shirt, curly hair twisted into a tight braid at the back of her head, he was standing at her kitchen table, reading the newspaper.

_How bloody domestic_, she thought to herself, before flopping unceremoniously back onto the couch and shutting her eyes.

"Why are you here?" she asked, face buried in the pillow.

"You were supposed to come back to the lab today. I was coming to make sure that you were still alive. Though, it seems that 'alive' might be a bit of an overstatement in your case," he said scathingly.

Hermione sat up at that, though not very briskly. "I'm not supposed to be at work until Friday. Tomorrow."

"You're supposed to be back at work two weeks from when you left. You… ah, took that Thursday off since you left… almost as soon as you came in. So I believe that today would be the 15th day of your vacation," he replied, faltering slightly, but regaining his icy tone by the end of the sentence.

He was right, she realized. She hadn't though to include that day in her vacation, but he was correct.

"Well, _Master Snape_," she said, emphasizing the formal address, "then I am taking a sick day."

Severus glowered at her. "You cannot take a sick day when it is entirely your own fault that you are ill."

"In the past two years that I've worked for you, how many sickies have I taken?" she snapped, glad that she was at least sounding somewhat less than pathetic now.

"None," he said begrudgingly.

"Well then," she said icily, "I believe that I shall take a well-deserved one today, my fault or no. Goodbye."

He glared at her, before storming out and slamming the door.

* * *

_The part I can't forget  
__Is how I felt when I left;  
__I need another lovesick visit_


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione walked in precisely at five before nine, as per usual. Last night, she had steeled herself in her decision to act as though nothing were amiss. She wanted to earn her Potions Mistress title, and getting kicked out of her apprenticeship after two years of hard work was no way to go about it.

_She wore her old robes again_, Severus thought to himself, looking up briefly as she entered, before going back to his work.

He wasn't sure what that meant. She was probably just showing that she was ignoring everything that had happened between them, which was obviously the professional and responsible thing to do. But surely she knew his reaction to her by now. She began to set up to resume her experiments, not saying a word. Pretending nothing had occurred. Naturally, he would do the same.

The thought made his breath hitch for a moment, but he hastily covered it up with a loud cough. She glanced his way briefly, but continued to set up her workbench.

Something about the idea of forgetting what had happened was thoroughly unappealing, for a reason he couldn't name.

_I don't want her to forget about me_, he realized in a fierce rush of jealousy and anger, though she had done nothing wrong. Everyone wrote him off, brushed him aside, convinced that without Lily he was nothing more than a wisp of smoke that refused to disperse into the air. Telling themselves a story how he was a lost soul, tragically doomed to pining for a dead girl for the rest of his life.

They didn't know. They didn't understand that it hurt so badly when she left him, but it was because everyone left him. The reason he had loved her so much was because he had thought that she might love him back, and no one ever had. She wasn't the beginning of the story—she was the end of it, the culmination of a life of rejection and hurt.

Severus loved her because she represented everything he could never have, everything he craved. A normal life, happiness. A home.

So he had wanted her. So what. He wanted her with every desperate ounce of emotion he had kept bottled up throughout his life, and she had thrown it back in his face. So he had taken those feelings, and pushed them even more deeply down, and begun to tear himself apart.

She hadn't broken his heart. His heart wasn't available for breaking. It was tied up with fury with his parents, hatred for the Marauders, confusion about his place in the Wizarding world, and horror at where his life lead.

_So. There's that, then. Over 20 years of suffering, just to realize that you were wrong. That you never loved her, not really. Just lust, combined with a desperate need to be _needed._ A craving for company in your misery. Well, look at you now. You're just as alone as you were then._

Severus was seething. He threw the notebook he had been gripping white-knuckled across the room, furious that he had let himself believe something so obviously untrue. He didn't love Lily. He needed her, and she failed him, and that was that.

"Severus?" Hermione asked carefully, concerned.

His head snapped up to look at her. He had forgotten she was here. She had left him too, left him for two long weeks where he had been completely alone. _She_ had left him.

"You left me," he said, the words pushing forcefully from his mouth, his voice rough and cracked. He didn't know whom he was talking to, Lily or Hermione, his mother or Dumbledore. They all fucking left him. He didn't love anyone, it was all shit, and there wasn't any love for a wretch like him. He was alone.

Choking back what was certainly not a sob, he stormed to his rooms and slammed the door behind him, locking it securely before crawling into his bed, where he was safe. Where no one could touch him.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews! I love them more than anything.

* * *

Severus was still lying in bed at noon the next morning when he heard the door to his bedroom creak open.

He sat up like a bolt, forgetting that at some point in the night he had stripped down to his boxers, before quickly jerking his blanket up to his neck and holding it there with clenched fists.

Hermione stood there, visibly awkward, in a loose dress and thick sweater, trainers tied tightly on her feet.

"Why are you here?" he snapped, feeling exposed and very angry.

"I wanted to see you… er, see if you were okay," she said, looking slightly stricken.

"How did you get in?" he demanded, reaching for his wand before realizing it was in his robes across the room.

"I've been breaking your wards all morning. I actually thought you would notice and come stop me before I had come anywhere close, but… you obviously didn't."

"The warnings are tied to my wand," he said, feeling very foolish. Anyone could have come in, and he wouldn't have even been able to defend himself.

Hermione perched carefully on the edge of his armchair, eyes searching his. He shifted, uncomfortable, feeling horribly defenseless and non-authoritative. She had the upper hand here. Thank gods, she didn't seem to realize it, because there was a pleading look on her face, as though she were begging him to take control of the situation. Well, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

When she realized he wasn't going to make this easy for her, she began, haltingly at first.

"Yesterday you said… you said that I left you. But… I wanted to tell you that I didn't. I mean, I took my vacation, but only because we… because of what happened, and I felt horribly embarrassed. I shouldn't have thrown myself at you like that, and it was so juvenile of me. And I only left because I was certain that I needed some time to get over y—" she stopped herself, blushing brightly, before trudging on, "…to get over it."

The room was starting to feel very hot and very, very small. He rubbed his forehead.

"And I hope you know I would never leave you for good. I mean, one day I will have to work on my own, but I'll still be here for you. That won't change. Did you think I wouldn't come back? That I would just up and leave?" she asked. Despite her obvious embarrassment, she seemed to pick up on the nuances of what was destroying him.

He cleared his throat, eyes bleary. "Most people do."

She shook her head swiftly, and came to sit on the edge of the bed. "I would never, Severus. I wouldn't. I was embarrassed that you found out about my feelings for you, that's all. And I wanted to make sure that you wouldn't be embarrassed that I realized your feelings for… Harry's mum."

Severus had begun to have a glimmer of hope about Hermione, but when she said that last bit, he realized that she was just like everyone else in his entire life. Thinking he was still hung up on _Lily_, wasting away in his rejected depression. His eyes narrowed.

"I do not need your pity, Miss Granger," he bit out.

She stood, a flash of anger crossing her face. "I didn't offer it, _Snape_. I offered you everything else that I had. I was going to give you all of me. But you can't see past your stupid wallowing, can you? You can't see beyond what's happened to you. My _only _fault, the _only_ thing you can criticize me for, is that I wanted to see ahead of it. I didn't want to have anything with your past. I wanted to be a part of your future. I know you've been hurt awfully, for years and years, and I wanted to hold you and show you that there's something to look forward to. So you could stop looking back. But apparently, that's just not something you're capable of."

She spun around, and stormed away. He sank back.

"Wait—" he heard himself say, hoarse. She stopped in his doorway, and turned her head slightly back toward him, but didn't turn around.

"Why do you care about me so much?" he whispered.

She let out a choked laugh. "If you're even asking that, Severus, then I was obviously wrong about a lot of things," she replied cryptically. And then she left.

He curled back under his blanket, head pounding, wondering if there would ever be something he didn't fuck up.


	8. Chapter 8

Severus Snape was very, very uncomfortable. He was wearing loose black trousers and a black shirt under a black jacket buttoned up to his collar, perfectly within his comfort range of clothing, but he couldn't stop fidgeting with his hem. Hermione hadn't been back to work since the episode in his bedroom, each morning sending a polite and reassuring note that she was simply feeling a bit under the weather and would return to work in the near future.

Well, that was bollocks as far as Severus was concerned. Hermione Granger was fastidious about her health, and in the past two years she had worked for him had never once fallen ill. In fact, she almost became offended when he raised the subject of her lack of sick days taken. Far be it from Granger to chuck a sickie and sleep all day when she could be hunched over a boiling cauldron for eleven hours.

He had decided, after much internal debate, to go to her flat again, telling himself that it was to ensure that she was healthy and wasn't fleeing the country or something. He couldn't be out an apprentice after all this effort put into training her.

Except that in truth, he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to figure out if, somehow, she was serious about her feelings. He'd certainly been rejecting her rather harshly, and she hadn't backed down now. But he was certain that if they became… involved in one way or another, he wouldn't be able to have her abandon him. This had to be for sure, forever. And he wasn't sure how to explain that to her without sounding desperately needy and emasculated, because neither of those were options.

He had been standing in the hallway outside of her door for almost ten minutes, and had finally gathered the courage to knock, but the door was jerked open before his knuckles could meet the wood.

"Christ, are you going to knock or not?" Hermione snapped, dressed in Muggle jeans and a thick sweater.

He coughed slightly. "I'll just go then," he mumbled, before turning and walking down the hallway.

"Wait—" she called, standing in her doorway. He turned back.

"Come in," she said softly, holding the door open.

* * *

_I long for you,  
I long for you _


	9. Chapter 9

Severus walked slowly into her sitting room, perching carefully on the couch Hermione had been sprawled on when he was here days before.

Shutting the door, Hermione settled into a high wing-backed chair directly across the coffee table from him.

"I came because I needed to talk to you," he said, voice steady. There, that wasn't so bad. _Good job, Severus._

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

_Oh, shit._ He had planned this out, practised as he paced the hallway. But now he was here, and this was far too much for his slightly potion-addled brain (he had gotten belligerently pissed last night, and that morning had taken three different potions to try to relieve his hangover) to comprehend.

"Well… I wanted to say that the other day, when we were… ah, kissing, in my… bedroom..." the word sounded so decidedly _intimate_ that he almost forgot where he was going with that sentence and dropped his gaze to the floor, before looking over her shoulder into the kitchen and plunging on. "Well, when we were… there… I know you asked if I was thinking about… Lily."

Her hands were clenched together in her lap, and her brow furrowed.

"Well, anyway… I wasn't. Well I was, but I wasn't pretending you were she. I was just confused. I haven't felt such a strong reaction to a witch since her, and I couldn't tell what was happening. I couldn't think straight, and I wasn't sure why. So it's best that you left, because… I needed to figure things out," he finished lamely.

Hermione chewed on her lip for a moment, studying him. "What did you figure out?" she asked softly.

"Well… I guess I realised that everything I do leads back to Lily Potter. And I loved her, but not as much as everyone thought. Not as much as _I_ thought. She was more… the last straw. Another person that failed me. So, yes, she mattered, but that doesn't mean she still holds any sway over me all these years later. The things I did…" he paused, wincing slightly. "The things I did were because of my whole life. Not just her rejection. And I don't think what I felt was real love; I think it was just me wanting so badly to be anyone other than myself. I was just so jealous of everything, and I wanted her so badly so I could prove to everyone and to myself that I was worth something."

"You are worth something," she burst in suddenly, leaning forward towards him.

He forgot the rest of what he had planned on saying and just _looked_ at her, jaw falling slack. No one had ever said those words before, no one had ever been so fucking _sincere_ in their belief in him. It wasn't his ability to brew potions, it wasn't his sneakiness and cunning, it wasn't his Dark Mark or his access to Hogwarts. It was just _him_. She thought he was important on his own.

He rubbed quickly at his eyes with the heel of his hand, wiping away what absolutely were not the beginnings of tears with a cough.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know that… if you would have me… I want to be with you. I've been watching you be brilliant, and ecstatic, and rude, and snappy, and I've seen you looking like a Blast-Ended Skrewt dragged you through the Forest and back and I want you anyway. I want you _because_ of all those things."

She let out a slightly choked laugh at the reference to her under-the-weather morning.

"And… well, do you want to be with me? If you don't, just forget any of this happened," he said, something in his chest rising up until his throat felt tight and constricted. Gods, if she said no, he wasn't sure he would be able to do anything but crawl back to his house and curl up into his bed for a thousand years.

But she was nodding, and standing, and sitting in his lap and wrapping her arms around him. He crushed her to him, pressing his face into the hollow of her collarbone, refusing to cry but for some reason wanting to. She was tangling her fingers in his hair, pressing kisses into his scalp, pulling him tightly against her warm body and awful sweater.

He pulled back and pulled her mouth to his, foregoing soft romanticism for his hard, taking kisses, biting her lips and feeling her fingers grip the hair at the nape of his neck tightly. He kissed her with the part of him he had been tamping down for years and years.

He kissed her with everything he had.


	10. Chapter 10

He stood, depositing her on the floor and pushing her slowly to where he thought her bedroom was without leaving his thorough taking of her mouth. When he accidentally slammed his shin into the corner of the coffee table, he released her.

"Bedroom," he said shortly, turning her around and pushing her forward. She laughed, and pulled him through the doorway. He kicked the door shut, reaching for her, pulling her hips flush against his and grinding into her. She gasped into his shirtfront, hands clutching the back of his neck for support.

He jerked up the hem of her sweater and shirt at once, forcing her to raise her arms over her head so he could pull it off. He didn't bother with her bra clasp, instead tugging the straps down over her shoulders and shoving it to her waist. She laughed again, looked at him with such a loving expression on her face that his hands faltered slightly as he pulled both thumbs across her nipples at once. She pulled at the buttons on his jacket, growling with frustration as her fingers struggling. He reached up and began to quickly unbutton his jacket and shirt, yanking them off. She took the opportunity to get rid of her jeans and underwear, reaching back to his waist to work at the buttons on his trousers. More successful than she had been with his jacket, she quickly pushed them and his boxers to the floor and he stepped out of them, pushing her back onto the bed.

He paused then, looking at her splayed across the deep gold coverlet, curly brown hair spread wildly about her face, his cock jutting toward her as he stood between her knees. He was harder than he had ever been with someone, and as she sat up and pulled him down beside her he felt himself grow harder still.

Severus had never been a wizard that placed much stock in affection in the bedroom, believing that sex was solely physical, and any idiotic feelings were left at the door. Yet he was fast losing faith in that belief, because there were so many emotions racing through his bloodstream that he hadn't felt while rutting before, and he wouldn't give them up for anything. His gaze was hazy with lust, and the fierce affection and primal possessiveness he felt towards this witch, _his_ witch, was pounding inside his chest ferociously. _This_ was real.

He pulled her up the bed till her head was resting on a pillow, and covered her body with his own.

"I hope you're not expecting romance," he whispered throatily in her ear, his right hand running down her side, from her breast to her bent knee. "I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not."

She smiled, he could feel it, though he was busy biting at the skin under her ear.

"I don't need it," she whispered, followed quickly by a sharp intake of air and a soft moan as Severus pressed his fingers to her core.

"Severus, stop it!" she practically shrieked, and he jerked back, releasing her suddenly. But her arms were wrapping behind him, curling over his shoulders, pulling him back down to her. _Thank Merlin_, the small, small part of his brain that was still thinking about something other than her fantastic quim muttered.

"No, I mean stop _teasing_ me. I need you, now," she said hastily, catching his lips with her own. He knelt between her legs, bending her knees and pushing them apart.

"Hermione, if we do this, it's… It's forever. You can't leave me." He said, sitting back suddenly, feeling almost ill. This was it.

She propped herself up on her elbows, legs still wantonly spread apart, and frowned at him.

"Severus, I have loved you for _so long_. I am not going _anywhere_," she said, stressing the words as though she thought he would forget them.

"Now would you mind getting back to it?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and grinning at him.

The corner of his lip tilted upwards, and he dropped over her, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her shoulders.

"If you insist."

:::

_The End._

* * *

_In my adoration,  
__I'm never going to turn my back again,  
__And with this conversation  
__We can make amends._

* * *

**I absolutely adore reviews... :)**


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